TWO
Dean put a hand out to the man's shoulder reassuringly.
"Sure?" he asked. The man grunted at him, reaching out unsteadily for the shot glass on the bar top. His fingers connected with the glass and he lifted it, looking at Dean.
"Sure," he confirmed, mostly slurred.
Dean put his hand out confidently and picked up his shooter.
"Quickest to five then," he said quietly, pointing at him with his free hand.
"Make it six," he said, much more slowly than he thought he did. "My little girl was six. Now she's gone."
"Six," Dean nodded quickly, then looked at the barmaid to avoid the man's anguished eyes. "Six?"
"Alrighty, but you two better have medical coverage," she sighed, turning away and picking up the cocktail shaker again. She grabbed bottlenecks and slushed in the ice, picking it up and shaking quickly, watching her two paying customers eye each other still. She whipped out two more shot glasses, filled them with their weapon of choice and stood back. "Ok gents, on my count," she said. "Ready?"
"Ready," they chorused, and she sighed, hands on her hips.
"Ok then, for the gold. Three… two… one… Go!"
The two men chugged down the first shot. Dean was slightly quicker. He reached for the second, still despatching the first from the back of his throat. The second flew down, not even touching the sides. He slammed the glass down quickly and lifted the third, then fourth, then fifth. He paused to belch out a cloud of noxious fumes before pouring the last one down his throat.
He slammed down the glass with a victorious "Gaah!", drawing the attention of the rest of the barstool occupants. He looked up at his opponent.
He had paused, his hand on the fifth glass, just looking at it, frozen in the act of picking it up.
"Dude," Dean slurred, putting a hand out to his shoulder to shake him.
"Wait!" the barmaid cried.
Too late. As Dean touched his jacket the man slid off the stool and onto the floor in a heap.
"Well," Dean said philosophically, wobbling and then resting his arm on the bar top to steady himself, "probably better that way."
"Hey!" came a shout from behind him, and he looked at the barmaid quickly.
"Is that a tall dude, brown pansy-assed hair, face like he's just scraped crap off his shoe?" he asked quickly.
She flicked her eyes over to the door, then back at Dean, putting her hands on her hips.
"Uh-huh," she confirmed.
"Damn," Dean hissed, putting his hands flat to the bar to help himself turn away. "I ain't here. Where's the back door?"
"To your left," she said, looking back over and watching the 'tall dude with the pansy-assed hair' approach. Something about his stride told her he was displeased. She looked back at Dean, currently looking around, his face scrunched up in confusion. "That left," she said, putting a hand out and pushing him round in the correct direction.
"Thanks," he croaked, sliding his hand in his pocket and pulling out money. "That'll probably cover it," he managed. "Can you… do something with him?" he asked, chucking a thumb at the floor. She stared at him. He looked down at the man on the wooden tiling, then up at her. "Look lady, he lost his daughter this afternoon."
"Shit! That was him?" she asked, her attitude changing abruptly. "The wolf attack? How could that happen?"
"Cos someone didn't stop it," he said bitterly. She looked back at him, lost, and he slapped his hand on the counter top, rapping his ring against it loudly. "Forget it, not your problem," he managed, turning determinedly and heading for the door, using the bar top to keep him upright.
"Hey!" Sam called curtly, dropping a heavy hand on his brother's shoulder. Dean winced and stopped. "Just what the hell is going on here?"
Dean screwed up his face, thinking. Then he folded it into an affable grin and attempted to spin round. He missed the bar with his left hand and Sam caught him hurriedly before he went the same way as his former drinking buddy.
"Hey, Sammy!" he grinned, and Sam looked away quickly, desperate not to breathe in the alcohol fumes. "Come on, your turn. Now I know ya can't get six shots down before–"
"Dean, you were supposed to be asking about – strange creatures," he said politely, mindful of who was listening.
"Hey, I was doin' just that, man," Dean protested, putting his hands up to Sam's arms and pushing him back slightly. He let go and wobbled, and Sam grabbed just one of his elbows this time. "I know all there is to know about – about – what was it again? Effmashite hominid-loopy-forms," he finished proudly.
"Let's just get back to the motel," he said, pulling on his elbow slightly.
"Naw, come on, this angel here makes the best–"
"Dean," he said firmly, and his brother paused. Sam noticed his eyes waver from one of his to the other with the complete opposite of silent lucidity, and simply shook his head. "Come on. I found your car outside, man. It's – she's all by herself," he added slyly, smiling apologetically.
"My baby!" Dean heaved plaintively, trying to push Sam to one side. "Where's ma baby?"
"I'll take you to her, come on," he said, grabbing his brother's ample bicep and pulling him round. He looked at the barmaid, nodding his thanks. Then he stood behind his brother, putting both of his hands to his shoulders and frog-marching him to the door.
They made it to the doorjamb before Dean tripped and stumbled. Sam grabbed at his upper arms quickly and Dean belched generously as he put his hands out against the doorjamb. Keeping his balance at this point, however, would have first involved him being conscious of the difference between up and down.
"Damn – think there was more Nurple than Purple in them shots," he chuckled. Sam sighed and simply manoeuvred him out of the door and into a warm summer night.
They made it across the car park and then Dean let out a half-hearted cheer.
"There y'are, baby!" he slurred, breaking free of Sam's grip and lurching toward the Impala. He landed heavily against the driver's door, searching through his jeans pockets for keys.
"Dean, you are not driving, don't even think about it," Sam said quickly.
"Aw c'mon, Sam, you ain't drivin'," he laughed. "I wanna get to a bed tonight, not next week."
"Ok, fine," Sam shrugged, folding his arms. "When you've driven her into a tree and totalled her, I'll stand back and point and laugh."
Dean paused, thinking. He let his shoulders sag abruptly. He hiccupped, belched at length, then turned and looked at him.
"I hate you," he said with a resigned sigh, and Sam grinned. He watched Dean pull the keys from his pocket and unlock the driver's door. He opened his mouth but then gave up, watching his big brother wang open the door and crawl in on his hands and knees.
He mountaineered his way to the passenger seat, squirming around until he was more or less sat upright. He put his hands to the dashboard, sliding them apart and then back together again, muttering sweet nothings.
Sam ignored him, sitting in the driver's seat and shaking his head. Dean leaned over and put his hand out for the steering wheel to brace himself. Due to a small error in judgement fuelled entirely by the recent over-indulgence in the combination of grenadine syrup, sweet and sour mix, apple schnapps and perhaps fatally, blue curacao liqueur and vodka, his hand missed its target and he almost ended up in the driver's footwell headfirst.
Sam grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back, hanging onto his t-shirt firmly.
"Dean," he sighed, but his brother wasn't listening. He lifted the keys and attempted to get the longest one into the ignition barrel. He missed once, frowned and regrouped, the tip of his tongue sticking out slightly as he squinted at the ignition. He managed to get it in and chuckled in victory, sitting back.
Sam just watched him, unimpressed. Dean grinned at him delightedly, wiggling a finger at the key and twitching his eyebrows up at it a few times, well proud of himself. Sam rolled his eyes.
"What now, do I have to wait for you to do your victory dance? Or can we just go?"
Dean's face lit up and he put a hand on the door lever, turning to get out. Sam reached over and clamped a hand on his shoulder again hastily.
"Don't you dare! We're leaving!" he called. Dean laughed and sat back in the seat. Sam let go of him and started the car quickly.
"Let her purr for a moment, man," Dean slurred suddenly.
"Dean… Get over it," he sighed.
"Naw man, warm her over first. She don't like it when you run her cold like that."
Sam just looked at him. "You ungrateful bastard!" he snapped. "Do you have any idea what I was doing while you were proving you were a man by drinking beyond your limit – again?" he asked loudly, riled.
"Er… doing geek stuff?" he hazarded innocently.
"I was at the motel, going nuts looking for you cos you just up and split without even a note! I thought you'd gone off and tried to find the creepy-assed man-wolf-thing to kill it in some stupid attempt to make up for that little girl!" Sam protested. "I only found you cos someone remembered seeing this old Imp–"
"Woah, dude, chiiiill," Dean cooed, leaning over with both hands and stroking down Sam's right arm. Sam shook him off lightly and Dean chuckled. "Whatever man, don't get so – ooh! Look! Hot chick! Nine o'clock!" he hissed urgently.
Sam looked out of his window quickly, realising a shape was walking round the back of the car. He flicked his gaze up to the rear-view mirror and followed the girl as she rounded the boot of the Impala, heading for Dean's door. He sighed like it was all cosmically unjust and waited.
The girl bent over, leaning her forearms on Dean's windowsill. He wound the window down quickly, grinning at her.
"Hi," she said warmly. "You left so quickly before, I didn't get a chance to give you this," she said, brandishing a small piece of paper.
"Ooh lookie," Dean grinned complacently. "Hey Sammy, what do you think this could be?" he teased. He took the paper, opening it and reading it quickly.
"Well for one thing, it's for your brother," she said clearly.
Dean's face fell, then screwed up in confusion for a long second. Sam cleared his throat loudly, leaned over, and pulled the paper from his brother's fingers smartly.
"Thank you," he said politely, looking out of Dean's car window and smiling up at the barmaid warmly.
"So you'll call me?" she dared. He swallowed, trying to conceal it. His gaze flashed to Dean's still-confused expression, still directed at his empty fingers, then back at her.
"Yeah, sure," he said lightly.
She grinned and winked at him, pushing herself up from the window and disappearing back round the car. Both brothers leaned forward in their seats to watch her swish her way back in through the bar room exit.
The door closed behind her, and still the brothers didn't move.
Eventually Dean's head fell slightly to his right, his gaze tilting out of his own window, his expression still looking very much confused. Sam leaned back.
"Motel then," he smiled, sliding the Impala into gear and checking his mirrors before reversing her up and round slowly. He slid her into Drive and aimed her for the exit, gliding out and onto the main road.